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was it the Firstborn?” Caepio tapped the spot of beard on his chin. “Possibly both. There’s some disagreement about it. At any rate, those angels who reject the Tree are called malevolents.”
    “What do malevolents look like?” she asked.
    “No different from any other angel. I could be one, masquerading as an actor.” He raised one eyebrow and regarded her with an evil eye. “But I’m not.” His sleepy-eyed grin returned.
    Melaia laughed. “So why do malevolents reject the Tree?”
    “As it happens, Chantress, I’ve never felt like venturing close enough to a malevolent to ask. There’s great enmity between them and the Angelaeon—thoseare angels loyal to the Tree. Other than that, all you need to know is to stay clear of the affairs of angels.”
    “Are the raiders malevolents?”
    “My guess is there’s a malevolent staging the raids. Maybe more than one. The raiders themselves are controlled by their dependence on gash, I hear. You know about gash?”
    She nodded. “Do malevolents drink it?”
    “They don’t need to. Physically, angels grow to their prime and age no further.”
    Melaia thought about the Erielyon, Benasin, the innkeep. All in their prime. “Do you know anything about a debt between angels?” she asked.
    “All I know about debt is seeing my fleshly father hauled to debtor’s prison, thus my adoptive angel parent. But I suppose angels have debts as much as humans do. Though if it’s an angel collecting, I’d not wish to be the debtor.”
    Melaia curved her hand around the harp in its wraps, wondering if it could be the payment for a debt. If so, it should be in Benasin’s hands, not hers. Perhaps he was back in Navia or tracking her to Treolli. She drummed her fingers, thinking of the raiders headed south. Would Trevin’s message arrive in time? What would Hanni and the girls do?
    “Do you journey to Redcliff—or beyond?” asked Caepio.
    “Redcliff. I’m sent by the overlord of Navia to play the harp for the king.”
    “The harp I saw yesternight? You intended to play for the wounded man, didn’t you?”
    “I thought my music might soothe him, help him heal.”
    “With that harp methinks you might resurrect him from the maws of death.” Caepio’s puffy eyes widened. “I saw the runes carved into it. They indicate its power. Do you know what they spell?”
    Melaia shook her head.
    “
Dedroumakei.
‘Awaken!’ If the runes speak true, I’d have liked to see the harp awaken the warrior yesternight.” Caepio glanced sideways at her. “You’d not consider joining our troupe, would you? We’ll be at Redcliff for a time.After that, we journey to Navia. Then it’s south to Qanreef. With that harp—and a pretty chantress as well—we could keep any audience awake.”
    “I’m pledged to Redcliff at the moment,” said Melaia.
    Caepio placed his hand on his heart as if he had been wounded. “Pledged to another.” He sighed, then grinned. “Truly, if you ever wish to be free of the priesthood, you’d be welcome in our troupe.”
    “Are you always traveling?”
    “We circle ’round the kingdom. But when the wind blows cold, like birds we hie ourselves south, where the king keeps his winter palace. So I suppose we’ll renew acquaintance with you there.”
    Melaia nodded, but she wondered if a priestess would overwinter with the court or be expected to bide the cold season at the temple in Redcliff. Where would a kingsman who worked with draks spend the winter?

    That night they camped at Caldarius, where steam curled up into the cold air, rising from two pools formed by hot springs bubbling out of the ground. One pool lay on a ledge and cascaded into a second pool below. Melaia stood transfixed, watching the steaming waterfall.
    Trevin stepped up beside her, rubbing his right hand where he was missing his small finger.
    “Does your hand hurt?” asked Melaia.
    “Just an old habit,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “This place smells like